


Ink on Your Skin

by imstephtacular



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Oneshot, Tattoos, Zarry Fluff, allusions to drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imstephtacular/pseuds/imstephtacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Zayn and Harry are sleepy and cute and talk about tattoos and...feelings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink on Your Skin

It's 1 am. The arena had been sold out. The crowd had been incredible. And Harry and Zayn are exhausted. They're sharing a room on this leg of the tour and wind up laying on their couch, head to head, babbling in that tired way they always do.  
“Are you high?” Harry giggles.  
“Nah, mate,” Zayn giggles harder. “Just. So. TIRED,” he sighs loudly, laughing again for no reason.Harry sighs louder, blowing air out his mouth so hard it puffs Zayn's quiff all askew.  
“Oi,” Zayn sits up, fluffing it back to the way he likes it.  
“Sorry,” Harry slurs, sitting up to face him.  
“'s'ok,” Zayn brushes it off seconds later, laying his head in Harry's lap, now that it's available as his own personal pillow. This is nothing unusual. Harry and Zayn have a relationship like nobody else. They sit around and talk about...life. Sometimes high, sometimes tired like tonight, other times just bored and because they like talking to each other. Harry understands that Zayn curls inside himself at times and oddly enough, Zayn understands the way Harry lives in the limelight, like he was born into it. They balance each other out nicely.  
Harry rests a hand on Zayn's stomach and idly rubs tiny circles, like he's petting a kitten. This is also not unusual. Harry likes to care for people and as much as Zayn hates admitting it, he likes being taken care of. Zayn even purrs, almost inaudibly, and Harry smiles softly, knowingly.  
Zayn reaches up to touch Harry's arm, finding a spot that isn't covered in ink. “Thinking about covering this area any time soon?” Zayn asks almost absentmindedly.  
Harry takes a moment to contemplate, still rubbing Zayn's stomach. He looks down and sees Zayn gazing up at him, sleepy eyes, but focused. Their eyes meet and Harry blinks rapidly to bring himself back. “Haven't decided yet.” He removes his hand from Zayn's stomach and lifts his arm, turning it this way and that, as if sketching out the inky map that may appear in his future. “Nothing in mind, particularly. I've got all I want for now, but that could always change,” Harry shrugs. “Why-- have any suggestions?”  
Zayn's eyes turn dark, mischievous, and brings Harry's arm back down to meet his stomach and places his hand back on the naked skin between Harry's elbow and wrist. “Maybe, maybe not.”  
“Aw, come on, Z, be a pal,” Harry whines. “What did you have in mind?”  
“Well,” Zayn begins, as if he's put much thought into this question, “Liam's got the arrows, one for all of us, right?” Harry nods slowly. “I was just thinking,” Zayn continues hesitantly. His eyes are alert, searching for Harry's, despite how languid and loose his body and mind feel. “Maybe you should get something like that. For all of us. Or...each...of us...” Zayn trails off.  
Harry shifts almost imperceptibly and switches the direction of his swirling on Zayn's abdomen. “Yeh?” is all Harry says. He seems to consider this suggestion carefully and Zayn allows him to think about it before continuing on.  
“I mean, all of your tattoos are great, Haz” Zayn rambles on.  
Harry smirks. “Sure, sure,” he scoffs. “I know how everyone feels about them. They think they're dumb or flighty or girly or meaningless or...”  
“They're beautiful,” Zayn interjects. His tone is suddenly serious, but he softens immediately. He ghosts his fingers lightly down to Harry's wrist and starts ticking them off one by one. “The butterfly, the birds, the flower...” Zayn trails off again.  
“Yeah, those ones,” Harry whispers, his voice suddenly heavy, seemingly ignoring Zayn's compliment, or purposely pretending Zayn hasn't said it. “I know those are the ones everyone hates or whatever.” His eyes quickly turn sad. This is something Harry has never said to anyone, even Zayn, and at this time of night, in his exhausted, vulnerable state, it comes out even more desperate.  
Zayn sits up and faces him. “Since when do you, Harry Styles, care what anyone else thinks?”  
Harry sighs loudly. “I don't know, Zayn....” he says, dragging out the syllables of his name. He shakes his head and joins their hands together in their laps between them. “I usually don't give a flying fuck about anything,” Harry manages a tiny smile. “I do what I want, when I want, for me. Not for anyone else,” he rambles on. Zayn nods in agreement, encouraging him to continue. “It's just so flustering to hear the same criticisms over and over, you know?” And Zayn does know. He gets a lot of crap about being reserved, about his smoking, about who and when he dates, everything. It's always the same, like people don't have more important things to worry themselves with. “It gets to me sometimes,” Harry admits, bringing his eyes to meet Zayn's, just barely. Harry's impossibly are-they-green-or-blue-or-what eyes are wide, gems, starting to well up, and Zayn wants nothing but to make them sparkle and only sparkle.  
“I know, Haz, I know,” Zayn consoles, squeezing their hands together. “But they are what make you...you. Each and every drop of ink on your body is there for a reason, because you wanted it, because it made you happy. And you don't have to justify that to anyone. And fuckthemiftheycan'thandlethat,” Zayn mumbles, the sleepiness fighting its way back into his voice. Harry smiles a bit at this, bowing his head in thanks.  
“Now,” Zayn curls his lips into a smirk, “how's about we discuss how to paint this masterpiece,” he nods toward Harry's blank arm. Harry blushes, deeply crimson, and Zayn has to bite his lip to keep from the smile creeping up to meet his cheeks.  
Harry sighs, relief filling the air. “Okay, you've got my attention. Again,” he adds quickly. Zayn smiles again, giving up all attempts to hide his giddiness. Or maybe that's just the tiredness. Or...he doesn't know.  
Zayn traces the empty space again between Harry's elbow and wrist. “Well, I was thinking maybe you could get something to represent each of us,” Zayn suggests, busying himself with what his fingers are doing to Harry's skin.  
“I love that idea,” Harry admits. “Did you say that before or?”  
“Yeh, yeh, I did...” Zayn says, waving it off. “You were a little caught up earlier, no worries.”  
Harry takes Zayn's hand from his arm and holds it gently. “Zayn,” he starts and Zayn angles himself up to face Harry, trying to steel his expression so he doesn't look hurt, although he is a bit wounded. “I'm sorry, mate, got lost in my head for a bit. But I'm back now. I'm all yours,” Harry murmurs.  
Zayn closes his eyes, not trusting himself to look at Harry a moment longer. He leans back down to rest in Harry's lap, still allowing his hand to be held in Harry's soft grip. “Well, in that case,” Zayn says, his voice threatening to shake with every syllable. “I think you should do it. We should do it. Together. Get inked for each other. I mean, for...not for...each...oh, fuck,” Zayn fumbles. Harry starts to laugh lightly as Zayn covers his face in embarrassment. “Oh great and now you're laughing,” Zayn moans, but chuckles a bit too, beside himself.  
“I'd like that,” is all Harry says.  
“You...you would?” Zayn stutters. He sits up a final time, twisting his body back to face Harry's, their hands still linked in between them.  
“You mean loads to me, Zayn. I've been trying to tell you that, but I guess subtlety really doesn't ever work in these situations, yeah?”  
“What...what are you saying?” Zayn manages, stomach in knots, hoping for the best.  
“I want you inked on my skin, Zayn. Just like I want you inked on my heart,” Harry spills out, nerves rising from the edge of his voice.  
Zayn's mouth pops open, hanging embarrassingly low on his face, and he waits for Harry to say more, but neither of them speaks. They simply stare at each other for what feels like minutes until Zayn finally, shaking, brings his mouth, still slightly ajar, to Harry's and plants the most chaste kiss on his warm lips. Harry pulls back for a second, if only to take in the look in the other boy's eyes as they lock again, before kissing Zayn back with all the emotion he had been holding back for Zayn's sake. With wandering hands in tangled hair, Zayn no longer giving a damn about his perfectly styled 'do, they finally pull slowly apart, ragged breathing in sync, Zayn resuming his favorite position with his head in Harry's lap, Harry's hands tracing Zayn's stomach, this time with more curiosity and electricity. Zayn is gazing up at Harry, dreamily, licking his lips in an innocent way, for once.  
“So you think I'm beautiful, huh?” Harry teases.  
“I'd thought you hadn't caught that,” Zayn whispers, blushing.  
“I wasn't sure how to take it or what to say back...” Harry admits.  
“'s'ok, you didn't have to say anything back, it was just...”  
“You're beautiful, too, Zayn,” Harry interrupts, smiling. “Until tomorrow then, beautiful boy?”  
Zayn nods before slowly nodding off, smiling into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda just came to me randomly one afternoon and it was a treat to write so I hope you enjoy :)


End file.
